


Six Ways From Sunday

by lookingfortherainbow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam Winchester, Come as Lube, Comeplay, Consensual Underage Sex, Crying During Sex, Dean loves his boy, Dirty Talk, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Grinding, I'm Going to Hell, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Painful Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Dean Winchester, Possessive Sex, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Rough Sex, Sam is 14, Top Dean Winchester, Underage - Freeform, Unsafe Sex, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, but barely, this is just 7k of pure filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27105766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingfortherainbow/pseuds/lookingfortherainbow
Summary: And Dean didn’t care what any social or moral guidelines had to say. They were here, hidden away in a motel, in their own world, where they always would be. Dean got to enjoy so little in life, and Sam had had every possibility for a normal life taken away from him. So, damn anyone who would try to take them away from this hidden heaven inside their hell of a reality. They had found it, and over Dean’s dead body would he lose it.-Most brothers walk in on their little sibling kissing someone and never speak of it again. Dean is not like most brothers.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 15
Kudos: 203





	Six Ways From Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this unedited piece of absolute wincestual filth. It's my pride and joy.

When Dean shoved through the creaky wooden door of the Star Motel--their home until Dad found the creature that had killed three postal service workers before they’d had time to shut the door on their funky cars--a foul smell immediately hit him. He coughed, covering his nose and mouth with the arm not holding the bag of snacks he’d stocked up on from the motel’s office vending machine. 

Shutting the door, he looked down, seeing where Sam's shoes had been shoved across the floor when he’d opened the door, leaving green slime tracks on the cracked linoleum. Still covering his mouth, he walked further into the motel room, knowing Sam would be sitting on the couch waiting for a snack. The boy had the appetite of an elephant--even Dean was struggling to understand where he got his continuous hunger pangs from. It could be from the fact he’d taken to exploring the wilderness that surrounded some of the motels they stayed at. It seemed that he’d found a particularly wet one this time, if his swampy shoes were anything to go by. 

“Sammy, how many times do I gotta tell ya? Stop leaving your muddy swamp-mush shoes  _ inside, _ it freakin’ reeks in--” 

The sound of the bag of snacks falling onto the dirty carpet wasn’t loud enough to drown out the wet smack of lips abruptly separating echoing through the room. 

“--here.”

Two--instead of one--pairs of eyes looked over, whites shining in the dim light of the side-table lamp. Sam’s greasy hair was mussed more than usual, and he struggled to wipe his mouth with one hand, spit making his lips shine brighter than his terrified eyes. Simultaneously, he tried to fix his hair and slide back into a proper sitting position on the couch. Dean had to tear his eyes away from his baby brother fumbling over his own limbs to inspect the other person--a boy--sitting in the place Dean usually did, his hands falling flat from where they’d been in the middle of pulling Sam onto his lap. 

“Sorry--sorry, Dean, I--um--we went to this swamp--umm--out back not far from here, wasn’t dangerous, was for-for a school--science project. . .um, that we were working on,” Sam rambled, his lips moving faster than his brain. 

Dean’s mouth was dry, and he couldn't even smell the foul swamp-shoes anymore. He could only stare at how Sam’s lips were swollen from being bitten, how his hands trembled as he tried to assemble his hair into place, how his flush was blooming down past the collar of his dirty white t-shirt. And he’d let Sam keep talking--just to be able to hear those sweet voice cracks that had started up not two months ago, and that slight whine in his voice like he was revving up to argue with Dean that had been woven into his tone since he could form his own opinion--but there was a third party in the room. 

The other kid flinched when Dean tore off his faded leather jacket and threw it on the nearest empty chair, his eyes bulging as Dean stepped forward and leaned over the coffee table. Slamming the textbooks closed--that weren’t Sam’s--that were dumped on it, he threw them into a pile with more force than was necessary and straightened, blood rushing in his ears. 

“Study. Session. Is. Over,” he rumbled. 

He didn’t care to watch the other kid stuff his books into his bag, his scraggly limbs--much like Sammy’s, minus the endearing factor--carrying him through the small room and out the door. He was too busy staring at a now silent Sam, watching how his bony shoulders rose and fell with every shaky breath taken. Dean wondered if he was that winded because of being caught by him or because of what his little friend had done to his lips. Picking up the bag of snacks, he threw them on the couch next to Sam. 

“Dad’s bringing food in an hour. Don’t stuff yourself,” he commanded. 

Sam was fish-mouthing on the couch, staring up at Dean like a deer in the headlights. God, Dean really hated himself right now. He hated how Sam had something to say, but was too afraid to say it. He hated how he was supposed to be Sammy’s confidante, supposed to be his safety, but he couldn’t be. Not in this moment. He could still hear his own heartbeat, could still feel his pulse thrumming. The image of someone’s--some  _ inexperienced boy’s _ \--hands on Sammy. . .well, how was Dean supposed to react to that? 

Dad could tell them all about how hunting things was about helping people, about returning demons to hell, about trying to be good  _ themselves _ so they could fix the evil in the world until he was blue in the face. 

But that would never be enough to get Dean to destroy those perverse thoughts in his head, to act like how a brother was supposed to around Sam. It would never be enough to overpower the need to watch Sam as he slept on the pillow across from him in motels. It would never be enough to stop him from drinking in the sight of Sam’s skin, glistening and mud streaked after their training. It would never be enough to help him control the rage he felt when he saw others act like they could appreciate Sam’s existence the way it deserved to be appreciated--the way  _ Dean _ appreciated it. 

That’s what kept him up at night. Not the knowledge that there were monsters lurking in the night, but that a part of him needed, craved, yearned,  _ thirsted _ for Sam in a primal way he would never have the willpower to quench. 

“I’m taking a shower. That damn auto job’s got me all greasy. Finish your homework before Dad gets back so we can eat together,” Dean ordered, deciding to walk away before he did something stupid and bit Sam’s lips himself. 

“He’s not gonna come back,” Sam argued from the couch. 

Dean didn’t stop in his journey to the shower, replying, “He will. And he’ll want to know that you did well with your homework--not with kissing some boy.”

\--

Dad did not come home. 

Dean had showered, eaten three bags of M&M’s, and half-assed all his homework assignments for his second senior year when he’d gotten the call that a lead had been found, and Dad would have to stay at a buddy’s place about an hour and a half from the motel to finish the job. 

“Told you,” Sam taunted around a bite of ham and cheese sandwich when Dean got back from walking to the gas station to get them dinner.

It was the first two words spoken between the two of them in two hours. 

“Shuddup, cheese face,” Dean grumbled, trying not to stare at how pink Sam’s tongue was.

He’d jerked himself off in the shower ‘til the water had run cold, and still something always burned hot and angry in the pit of his stomach at Sam’s quirks. It was nothing new, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

He kept poking it out, licking at the side of his mouth like he could reach the smear of melting Kraft American Single product. Exasperated, Dean reached over the coffee table, swiping it off. 

“Gonna strain your tongue if you keep doin’ that. You already used it a lot today, Sammy. I’d be careful, if I were you,” Dean said, licking the cheese from his thumb. 

Furrowed brows was a good look on Sam, his anger making him look even younger somehow, so raw in his display of emotions. He hadn’t learnt yet to bury them like Dean had, something he hoped Sam wouldn’t pick up on for as long as possible. Dean watched as his lips started to pout, bread crumbs sticking to the cracks in them. 

“Was just tryin’ t’have some fun,” he said, and Dean felt his stomach sink at how sad he sounded. “Never have fun anymore,” he threw a piece of crust angrily onto his napkin. “You work at the garage now after school, and you won’t even take the time to watch TV with me anymore. And when you  _ do, _ you fall asleep. You’re  _ always _ sleeping or sleeping  _ around  _ or  _ working. _ You could’ve at least ignored me when you saw me earlier like I wasn’t there. Ya know, like  _ I _ do when you bring girls back. . .”

Struck by the emotion, the pure  _ petulance _ in Sam’s tone, Dean blinked hard a few times, watching as Sam swallowed a gulp of water, then bit at a hangnail before shooting him an irritated look. His fingers were trembling, nails clacking against his teeth. 

“Yeah, I know, man. Look, there’s gonna be a lot of things in life you’re gonna want. ‘Cause they’re fun, ‘cause they’re easy, ‘cause they feel good, ‘cause you worked hard for ‘em. . .but a lot of times, you just ain’t gonna get ‘em,” Dean explained, watching as Sam looked up through his eyelashes, that innocence that remained in them making him look twelve instead of fourteen. “And when  _ people _ are what you want, and not  _ things _ , you can never let yourself have them. Even if they present themselves to you like pretty little gifts wrapped up with a bow. It’s the price of being a hunter.”

Picking up his empty sandwich container, he stalked to the trash and decided to turn in early, leaving Sam and that pleading look on his face behind. 

\--

In a perfect world, Dean would’ve been able to fall asleep the moment his head hit the lumpy motel pillow. But this world was the opposite of perfect, and insomnia was abundant for those who needed rest the most. Lately, Dean had exerted more energy tossing and turning in his bed than throwing punches and knives during training with Dad. It could be because of the ever-present stench of boy-sweat that infused the stuffy air in the one-bedroom motels they stayed at, Sam’s sweat glands working overtime under the scratchy blankets he insisted on keeping himself under. It could be that his warmth seemed to bleed over onto Dean’s side of the bed, making Dean himself sweat more because of reasons far different than the fact every one star motel had shitty ventilation. 

If they were in a northern state, they wouldn’t have to deal with this heat, but the odds were never in Dean’s favor. If he didn’t have such an attachment to Sam being in bed with him, he wouldn’t have stayed awake until the younger boy crawled in under the covers. Just like how Sam needed the blankets over him no matter the weather, Dean needed Sam next to him no matter the size of the beds they’d learned to cram themselves into. In the same way that Sam never told Dean that the blankets made him feel safe from the things Dad was out hunting now, Dean could never admit to anyone that he needed Sam just to feel like the world was actually revolving on its axis and not screeching to a halt. Even if he could hear him banging around in the bathroom, it didn’t cut it. No, Dean needed him in arm’s reach. 

The problem was, Dean was finding it harder each year to fend off the thoughts that were the real reason for him losing hours of sleep every night. Thoughts of greasy strands of hair tangled in his fingers. Thoughts of a pink tongue that had stuck itself out at Dean years ago--more times than could be counted--when snarky, argumentative words failed to come out of the pale lips that that damn tongue disappeared behind. He’d seen Sam use that tongue to lick ice cream from a cone, had seen it poke out while he tried his best to beat Dean at re-assembling guns. 

He had thoughts of grasshopper limbs hugging his waist, smooth where the hair hadn’t fully grown in yet. He had thoughts of putting his scarred and calloused hands where they didn’t belong--in private, baby-skin soft places that weren’t really as private as they were meant to be because what was privacy when you were a Winchester boy? 

No, they weren’t private to Dean. Sam had no problem changing in front of him, taking a piss in front of him. Worst of all was when they’d forget to shower on time, and Dad would be bellowing at them for making them late to be back on the road, giving them no choice but to slot under the showerhead together, elbows narrowly avoiding breaking noses and oftentimes hitting some tender ribs. 

It was these thoughts--along with the accompanying images--that swirled in his brain as the mattress dipped and squeaked beside him in the dark, Sammy trying to find his favorite position. 

Finally, the kid settled, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of conflicting emotions that shot to his brain and his core when he felt sweet breath on his neck. 

“I know you’re not awake,” Sam said into the darkness. 

God, Dean could feel every puff of breath on his neck. Did he have to lay so damn close?

“Good for you, what d’ya want--an award?” He snarked back, putting distance between them by wiggling closer to the edge of his side of the bed. 

Sam stayed put in his spot. Dean both ached and rejoiced because of it. 

“D’ya think Dad’s gonna move us away soon?”

Staying silent would be a nice option right now, but Dean knew his brother would push and push until he got an answer. 

Sighing, he divulged the truth. “No.” And then, “I still wouldn’t think about gettin’ close to that little boytoy of yours.”

If Sam wasn’t so smart and didn’t have a brain that could compete with Einstein, Dean wouldn’t be nibbling at his bottom lip, worried about how fucking jealous he sounded just then. 

Turned over suddenly by Sam’s bony hand gripping his broad shoulder, he stared at the glowing whites of Sam’s eyes, the part of his pupil that glimmered in the moonlight. 

“No?”

“No.” 

Rolling over to go back to staring at the worn wallpaper was pointless. Again, Dean was pulled until he rolled back over to face Sam. 

“What does ‘no’ mean?”

“It means no. What do I look like to you, dude? A dictionary?”

“Dean!” God, that whine was something Dean was sure Sam would never outgrow and a tone that Dean would always give in to. 

“Alright, alright. Jeez, Sammy. Stop grippin’ me so hard. You’re gonna tear holes into my shirt.”

Sam’s hand fell away. 

“Dad’s been thinking about us staying at a friend’s trailer until the school year is done. He’s been doing a lot of studying, and there’s a lot of weird stuff goin’ on in this town.”

Dean had also done a lot of nagging and pleading, plus a lot of intensive labor, to win Dad over on the idea of letting Sam have at least one school year that didn’t involve bouncing around from town to town or sending homework in by mail. There was no way he was going to tell Sam that. Or that the only reason he was re-doing twelfth grade was ‘cause he really couldn’t bear to have that much time and that much distance away from Sam. During the day, he could check up on him, waltz by his locker, slide stupid jokes into the slats that he’d written in his notebook in class while pretending to take notes to brighten his day, make sure whoever he was walking with in the halls wasn’t disrespecting him. He wasn’t obsessed, it was what any brother would do for his little sibling. 

Although, he was kind of regretting Dad’s agreement with him now that he knew Sam had some plaything to practice kissing on. 

“Dean,” Sam whined, shoving him in the shoulder, “I asked for the truth, not some dumb lie. ‘M not stupid.”

“Hey, watch it.”

That earned him another shove, strong as a kitten. 

“What was that for, huh? I’m tellin’ you the truth.”

Sam fell silent, chuckle fading, the glints of his teeth disappearing as his thin lips pursed into a line. “Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah, wow. Now shut up and get some beauty sleep, princess.”

A blissful few moments of quiet followed, Dean rolling back, before it was interrupted again by Sam’s iron grip tugging down on the back of Dean’s shirt, a habit he hadn’t grown out of since he was a kid. He used the leverage to slot himself against Dean’s back, bony knees hitting the back of Dean’s thighs. “You’re not gonna tell anyone,” came the trembling, questioning statement.

“‘Bout what,” Dean asked, something unpleasant pooling in his gut. 

“About. . .about what you saw. . .earlier. On the couch.”

“No, I’m trying to pretend I didn’t see it myself. Trying to forget someone had their tongue shoved down your throat. You're only fourteen, Sammy. I mean,  _ jesus, _ your balls have barely dropped.”

“Have too, and you know it, Dean. Besides, why do you care? You were already doing stuff with girls by my age.”

Dean felt a pit growing in his stomach, because that definitely wasn’t normal to say to your brother. It was not normal that Dean knew exactly what Sam’s balls looked like, knew how much pubic hair he had, knew that he’d been an early bloomer, and that he was definitely bigger than most boys his age.

It also wasn’t normal that Sam didn’t even flinch at that.

Regardless, it only made him want to show he was the only one suited to handle him--them. 

“Oh, so, what? It’s a competition now to beat me? Just ‘cause I’m older doesn’t mean you should follow by example what I did when I was your age.”

Dean rolled over, laid on his back. He couldn’t take the pressure of Sam’s body flush against his back, and his movement urged Sam to move away. Well, slightly. Abruptly, he propped himself up on an elbow, felt energized by how Sam’s body naturally moved with his.

“Look, if you’re going to anyway, you should be doing it with someone who’s got experience so you’re both not just fumbling around.”

“That’s what you’re upset about? Not that I was kissing a dude?”

“Who cares who you kiss.”

“Well,  _ you _ seem like you do.”

Damn Sammy and his observational skills. 

“Bull. God, dude, what I’m  _ trying _ to say is it’s  _ how _ you were being kissed that I worry about. Looked like that kid had smeared a gob of spit on your lips there was so much of it. Sex is supposed to feel good--not weird or uncomfortable.”

“Wasn’t trying to have sex,” Sam denied, voice gone quiet. 

Dean hovered over him, staring down into his eyes that were wider than before. His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, wetting it. 

“Really, Sammy?” He cocked his head down, bore his eyes into him. 

Sam nodded anyway, his upper body jerking with the way his legs were squirming under the thin blanket, eyes caught in Dean’s gaze.

“‘Cause looked to me like you were ‘bout ready to mount him like he was that goddamn pony you used to beg Dad for every birthday.”

Swallowing noisily, Sam shook his head, dirty hair knotting itself on the pillow. Dean raised his eyebrows, watching as his brother’s pupils grew so large his eyes were almost black. Black like the eyes of the demons Dad hunted, black like the shade of lust and desire that darkened Dean’s skies every day he had to be in such painfully close proximity to Sam, but couldn’t touch him the way he ached to. 

“How do you know so much?” Sam panted, chin raising, challenge in his eyes. 

_ There. _ That was his boy. Always pushing, always challenging Dean or Dad, fearless like Dean wished he could be. At least, right now, Dean knew he had the upper hand. 

“‘Cause I’ve given a few rides to eager ones like you. By the way, your form was way off, man,” Dean said, trying to find some smooth path out of the jungle they were traipsing through. Jokes were the usual route out, but he didn’t know if that would be enough this time. There wasn’t much holding Dean back from surging forward right now and claiming his little brother as his own. Sam was still frozen in place, muscles in his neck tensing, twitching. 

“You didn’t get to see me, really,” Sam countered, head tilting, bangs falling into his eyes. 

“I saw enough. You looked pretty awkward coming down from his lap, kiddo.”

“He had really narrow hips, and I wasn’t expecting--well, I thought--”

“Thought you’d have more to sit on, huh? If you want that, then you need someone with more muscle, more on their bones. Did you even get to grindin’ on his dick?”

Sam’s breath hitched, and Dean’s eyes darted to his loosened lips, ears honing in on the sound of spit noisily making it past his tight throat. His breath stuttered like he was about to choke, but that never happened. All that came out of his mouth was a weak, ‘Dean’.

Dean, himself, could barely believe what he was letting come out of his mouth. Flaring his nostrils, he shifted his legs, Sam’s squirming ones brushing against them. God, they were always so smooth, and he wondered what Sam thought of the mess of hair on his. 

“Well, did you? C’mon, Sammy, I asked you somethin’,” he pushed on, breath suddenly going shaky with the way Sam’s trembling hand flung out and clutched to Dean’s knee. 

They were both breathing like they’d just ran through the woods for the fifth time during those harder workouts Dad made them do, trying to beat whatever time he’d set his timer to. Without thinking, Dean’s hand gripped to Sam’s, holding it in place, sweaty palm dampening the still-tender and unscathed skin that stretched over Sam’s knuckles. The question wasn’t just something he said for the sake of sounding sexy. Desperation oozed out of his tone, because he truly was itching with irritation that he didn’t know. And he needed to--needed to know if Sam, Sammy,  _ his _ Sammy, had been rutting his bony hips onto some kid’s clothed dick, some kid he wouldn’t be talking to in a year, and if he was brutally honest with himself, some kid that wasn’t  _ Dean. _

“Didn’t--” Sam croaked, voice dry and high as he shook his head, sweat starting to gleam between the juts of his collarbones. “--didn’t do it.”

“But you wanted to, right?”

Sam swallowed again, and Dean had the sudden, horrible thought of what it would be like to slide his fingers down the kid’s throat and make him repeat the motion. “Yeah, yeah, wanted to.”

“Well, don’t try it again. ‘Specially not with that kid. He’s too young for you,” Dean said, losing grip of himself, feeling too disoriented, too exposed to keep looking down at his brother that was laid out on the bed like a fucking delicatessen specifically made for Dean to devour. 

God, was he ravenous. 

He thought he’d ended the conversation once he’d abruptly flipped over on his side, away from Sam, but that was not how Sam had taken his movements.

“So, who should I try it with?” Came the inquisitive voice from behind Dean, too close for comfort. 

“Not that kid,” Dean grumbled, voice muffled by the pillow he’d half-shoved his face into. 

“Okay, so someone older. Like your age?” The voice was close this time, the springs in the bed squeaked subtly. Dean felt tiny puffs of hot breath on his neck. 

“No, guys my age are pervs.” Dean winced. He was the pervert. He was the one, laying not a foot away from his brother, almost fully hard. 

“Ok, so. . .someone way older, like, way,  _ way _ older.” 

“Hell no!” Dean shouted into the pillow, something animalistic, enraged, awakening in his belly at the thought of some older man touching innocent Sammy. 

“Ow! What the hell, man?” He cried, his calf throbbing from the surprisingly hard kick delivered to him with Sam’s bony foot. 

“Who the hell am I supposed to try anything with, huh?” Sam had broken out the whine, and that sweet voice crack was what did Dean in. 

With the movements of a well-trained hunter, he flung himself over, not giving Sam enough time to react so he ended up pressed half under Dean’s much heavier weight. He could feel the heat of Sam’s bare chest bleeding through his own threadbare sleepshirt. Drinking in the shock in his eyes, Dean gripped his wrists to punctuate his words. 

“No one, Sammy. No one.”

Sam scoffed in his face, the hot puff of peppermint toothpaste sending Dean into a momentary state of haziness. His mouth watered. 

“Yeah? So, what? I should just stay a virgin and be happy about my hand being my only partner in bed?”

“I’m in your bed,” Dean whispered. 

Sam looked at him for a few beats, his expression unreadable, eyes still so wide. “And your point is--”

“My point is, why didn’t you come to me,” Dean growled, swung his leg over Sam’s scrawny one, felt how his hip bones stood out like peaks beneath his skin to poke into the insides of Dean’s muscular thighs. “Sammy, why? You can come to me for anything. You always used to, Sam.” 

And, god, it was embarrassing, hearing the panic in his own tone. Sam didn’t seem to care though. He only stared up at Dean, chest rising and falling more rapidly against his brothers’ with every second that passed. 

“Did you want him to help you get an itch out, Sam? ‘S that what you wanted?”

The sound of Sam’s throat clicking echoed in the room, sounded explosive in the quiet, amongst their labored breathing. Dean smoothed his rough palm over the skin on Sam’s under-arm, down down down, to wrap around his shoulder, then neck. There, there, with pressure from his thumb, not only could he see, he could also now  _ feel _ that habit of Sam’s that always caught Dean’s attention. That lovely,  _ infuriating, _ habit where his throat fluttered and twitched wildly when he was nervous or worked up or struggling to find words. Dean wanted to bite there, right there under his chin, suck where his adam’s apple was starting to become more defined. 

Nothing could prepare Dean for the tiny whimper that escaped Sam’s lips, the way he threw his head back against the pillows, bottom lip caged in his teeth, when Dean removed his hand from his neck and cupped Sam’s hard cock. 

He shifted Sam’s boxers over it, feeling out the shape with curiosity. He was smaller than Dean, understandable since he was still getting through puberty. Dean didn’t care, though, in fact, it made his skin so hot he felt itchy with it. The way his full erect dick fit perfectly in his palm, like god himself had made it to fit the measurements of Dean’s hand just right. His little brother, fully hard and aching, just for him, just because they’d been talking about how he’d  _ almost _ dry-humped his buddy. If that conversation alone was enough to get him there, Dean wanted to know what his reaction to other things would be.

His hips were jumping, fidgety like the legs trapped beneath Dean’s seat on top of him. 

“Is this where you needed the relief? Is this the place you wanted him to touch you most, so much you were too embarrassed to come to me about it?” Dean asked, reveling in the gasps, the hitches of breath that were breaking out of Sam’s slack mouth. 

He gripped the wrist that had been freed with his other hand, holding both of them in one, just to maximize the control over Sam’s squirming body. Using the hand that had been feeling up Sam’s small dick, he bent his wrist, slid his fingers under the waistband of his boxers and forced a finger between Sam’s clenching and unclenching ass cheeks.

“Dean! Dea-Oh my g--ughh--” Sam panted, trying to spread his legs, scoot himself down the bed to get pressure directly against his hole. 

“Or was it here, hm?” Dean asked, rhetorically, sliding the pad of his finger against Sam’s hole. It was so hot there, hot and damp with sweat. Dean wondered if Sam walked around like this all the time when they were in hot states, wondered if it was always just a little slick in his actual private place, a place Dean had never seen, had never been close enough to take notice of the wrinkled pucker of his hole, how the hair was so sparse it was almost like he’d shaved there a few days ago. 

Dean was so fascinated by it, so in awe of his kid brother, he couldn’t stop the rhythmic motion of back and forth against his hole. Sam seemed just as overwhelmed, shifting this way and that, whimpering, wrists rubbing together in anticipation against Dean’s iron hold on them. 

He lowered himself, let Sam wheeze into his open mouth, let his breath skate over his tongue. From this close, Dean could see the plea in his eyes, the way he was drinking in the sight of Dean above him like he’d dreamed about it before. 

“Did you want him to fuck you, Sam?”

“Ungh, Dean.”

“Did you want him to put his scrawny little dick up in your virgin hole? D’you want him to thrust up into you with his bony legs?”

As Sam was about to kiss him, Dean moved back, tore off Sam’s boxers, his own shirt and underwear following. The whoosh of air from peeling off his shirt was welcomed, the air in the room already so stuffy he felt he might choke on it. It didn’t matter though, because he was surrounded by Sammy’s scent. It filled his nostrils, his lungs, he could feel it clinging to his teeth when he panted, could taste the salt of it on his tongue. 

Taking initiative, he sunk into Sam, his young and untainted body spread out and waiting for him, pink nipples raised in peaks, prick cherry red and dripping against his hipbone. 

“Oh,” came the little cry from him, trembling hands cautiously gripping onto Dean’s side, palms slick on his skin. 

Dean relished it, relished the sound of his little sibling--this kid he’d taken care of since the day Dad had told him to rescue him from their burning house--finding pleasure, finding ecstasy in how Dean’s much larger cock slid against his own, their balls kissing for the first time, getting intimate like how they were always meant to. And Dean didn’t care what any social or moral guidelines had to say. They were here, hidden away in a motel, in their own world, where they always would be. Dean got to enjoy so little in life, and Sam had had every possibility for a normal life taken away from him. So, damn anyone who would try to take them away from this hidden heaven inside their hell of a reality. They had found it, and over Dean’s dead body would he lose it. 

“Or did you want me? Did you want to sit on my lap, Sammy? Were you picturing me under you, thinking of me fucking you six ways from Sunday?”

Once Sam started nodding, it was like he couldn’t stop. With the leverage of his skinny arms wound tight around Dean’s neck, and his knees splayed, feet planted on the creaky, old bed, Dean’s narrow hips and thick thighs between them, he started a frantic, uneven rhythm against Dean’s practiced movements. 

“From now on, you only come to me for this, you hear?” Dean said, voice soothing, a contrast to Sam’s harsh breathing and wild limbs grappling all over Dean like he was hungry for it. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he breathed, gangly arms reaching to feel where the dimples in Dean’s back were. 

“‘Ve wanted you for forever, kid. Don’t you ever let anybody else touch you. It’s just you and me, baby,” Dean promised, leaning down and capturing Sam’s chapped, pink lips with his own. 

It was coming to life--all of Dean’s darkest fantasies, all the dreams that Sam and his lips were wrapped up in--and it felt so good he was afraid his soul might leave his body. 

Sam was so pliant under him, so inexperienced he just went for it, lip and tongue eager on and in Dean’s mouth. There was absolutely no tact to it, and Dean’s stomach bottomed out at the feeling of his brother, who was always so prim and proper, losing control over his own body so Dean could take what he wanted from him. 

The slick slide of their lips and tongues made the sound of their kissing loud enough to compete with the way the bed was squeaking. Sam was getting so riled up, clearly chasing his high with abandon, he was bumping Dean’s mouth, nibbling and biting unevenly on it. Sliding his arm from where it was supporting him on the bed, he gripped that hair he’d fantasized about between his fingers, felt the strands prick his skin, tickle his knuckles. With his hand fisting his hair, Dean held his head to the bed and sucked slow and hard on Sam’s bottom lip. He wanted to erase any memory Sam had from kissing that kid.

Underneath him, Sam was making little mewling noises, blunt nails scratching at Dean’s muscles that rippled with each thrust. When Dean gripped his hip so hard it felt like it’d leave a bruise, just so he could reposition himself, thrust into Sam, gliding easily on the skin that was wet with sweat and their mixed precome, Sam began to lose it. 

“Oh my--ngh--Dean, I’m--shitshitshit--” Sam panted, sounding near insanity with pleasure. 

Dean got the signal, feeling how Sam’s whole body began trembling, his feet sliding and toes curling into the sheet, gripping it and pulling as his legs jerked. In a flash, Dean flattened himself to the bed and took Sam’s flushed prick into his mouth right as it kicked with strong spurts of come. Hearing Sam cry out, was music to Dean’s ears. He didn’t expect Sam to throw his head back, arch his back like he’d been doing porn longer than anyone Dean had seen on the stolen VHS’s he got from adult video stores, but he’d never let Sam experience an orgasm in any other way from now on. Sam’s eyes were rolled to the back of his head, lids flickering like he was possessed, body spasming with every jerk of his prick against Dean’s white-hot tongue. He kept choking on his own sounds, and Dean wanted to record every single one. 

Sinking into the bed, he huffed and panted like he ran a mile. When he looked down at Dean, lips still wrapped around his cock, green eyes meeting his pupil-blown hazel, he let out an overwhelmed plea. Dean kind of wanted to push him, see how much he could take, how much overstimulation he could put Sammy through before it really did become too much. But he pulled back, slid his mouth slowly over the protruding veins in Sam’s flagging erection, careful to keep the ridiculous amount of come on his tongue. He had the urge to swallow it, or to swap it with Sam until they’d both had enough to quench their thirst, but he had better plans. 

“I’ve never,” Sam croaked, “ _ ever _ come that hard.”

He reached for Dean, hands outstretched, and Dean’s heart swelled in his chest. This boy owned all of him, and he didn’t even know it. When Sam realized he wasn’t going to get a cuddle at that moment, he dropped his arms, pout only half-forming on his lips thanks to his eyes going to Dean’s throbbing cock. 

“Lemme get you off, I wanna--gimme,” Sam stumbled over his words. 

How could this boy be this insatiable. He looked like he’d just came his brains out, was slurring his words like he had at least. He began to prop himself on his elbows, but Dean shoved him down, taking in the sight of his thin limbs sprawled on the bed, there for Dean to do whatever he pleased with. Sam watched in rapt fascination as his big brother started jerking himself. He twitched as his large palm began sliding over his calf, up up up to his thigh, his side, feeling the way his ribs expanded and deflated with every shaky breath, up to where his nipple was. 

“Oh-oh, wow,” Sam gasped, watching Dean’s thumb rub light circles on it, lighting up his nerve endings like fireworks. 

Tired of taking things slow, he pushed Sam onto his side, and pushed his knee up while straddling the opposite leg that was laid flat. He felt like he could come just from the sight of his large hand swallowing the small, pert size of Sam’s asscheek. Sam was twisting his neck, curious and in need of keeping his eyes on every one of Dean’s movements. He bit his nail, then his finger as Dean pulled at him, and the sight shouldn’t have been so hot to Dean but it was. 

His fourteen year old brother had his hair knotted and disheveled from his harsh treatment, his cheeks were ruddy from the heat and his orgasm, his teeth were sinking into his nimble finger, and he was watching Dean line himself up and spread his cheeks to see his hole like he was just a toy for Dean to use. 

“Dean, _ dean,” _ was all Sam could say as Dean let come and spit pool out onto his cupped palm, only to lower his palm and slide it onto his winking hole, making it shine in the moonlight. 

_ “Fuck, Sammy,” _ Dean slurred, delirious as he slid his finger in. 

He was so tight, so deliciously tight, Dean wanted to shove his tongue up there when Sam was coming just to feel how his body would clamp down from the inside. Sam was starting to move his hips down like before, and Dean guessed the boy had experience with fingering himself since he seemed to know how to do this, at least. He added a second one, leaned down and spat right into Sam’s hole when he heard the pained whimper. 

“I need to fuck you,” Dean shoved another finger up inside the vice-like grip his hole had on the first finger. “I don’t have lube so you’re gonna have to be okay with my spit and your come being it. ‘S gonna hurt a bit and you’re gonna be sore afterwards, okay, kiddo?” Dean let the endearment slip off his tongue. 

He wondered if the perversity of it was what provoked Sam’s loud moan. 

“Shut up and fuck me already, you jerk,” Sam whined, his hips swiveling. 

Dean reached over, felt how Sam was getting hard again. He couldn’t help the dark chuckle. “I’m getting to that. Don’t be a little bitch about it,” Dean taunted, scissoring his finger, loving the wet squelching sound that mixed with Sam’s moans. 

He added a third finger, and Sam’s breathing became labored. His hair was matted with sweat, clumped over his eyes. He struggled to keep his eyes on Dean, wanted to see the impressed, awed look on his face as his green eyes stayed glued to the sight of his hole taking in his thick fingers. 

Sam could already feel the ache coming, could feel his limbs and back protesting from the position Dean had him in. But it faded to the back of his mind when Dean finally replaced his three fingers with the purple, leaking head of his thick cock. 

“Oooohhhh-” Sam let out, eyes squeezing shut and hands flying to the pillow to cling to it for dear life. 

Dean felt like he was on the edge of losing control. He gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw, sunk his fingers so deep into the meat of Sam’s ass to try to gain some sanity that he knew there’d be purple fingerprints tomorrow. He wanted to thrust into Sam’s body with reckless desire, wanted to take everything his brother was willing to give him. But he didn’t want to hurt Sam, so he took it slow, cautiously sliding into his hole, that he could feel stretching around him with each increment. 

“Hurts,” Sam croaked into his pillow. 

“I know, I know, baby, it’ll get better,” Dean reassured him, having the insight to jerk Sam off. 

“No, it--it hurts so  _ good, _ De,” the rest of Dean’s name became a throaty groan. 

Dean couldn’t take it anymore after that admission. He pulled back slowly, pushed forward, still taking care to be cautious, but getting bolder with each thrust. He watched in admiration as Sam’s jaw locked in a silent scream, feeling all of Dean’s bare cock inside his raw hole. 

“Look at you, baby boy. You’re taking all of me. Oh, fuck, this is heaven,” Dean growled, finally losing it. 

His hips snapped into Sam, causing the boy to let out a sob and pleas and lots of ‘yesyesyes,Dean,yesohmygodohmyfuck’s. Dean wanted to memorize the feeling of this forever, wanted to be able to recall how Sam’s body shifted up the bed with every thrust, how his helpless fingers clawed into the mattress, how the bedsprings protested under the power of Dean’s fucking. He leaned back on his palm, pushed Sam’s knee from underneath, and watched from his new angle how Sam’s red, puffy hole was swallowing him, their bodies making a sound as they collided that Dean wanted to make with Sam every minute of every day. 

When the angle changed, Sam screamed, body jerking and Dean’s hips jackrabbitted into him, chasing that spasming sensation that was gripping his engorged cock in unsteady rhythms, Sam was jerking himself off, crying, curling in on himself as the power of his orgasm felt like it was ripping him to shreds. 

“God, but you’re so pretty, Sammy, so fucking pretty. Yeah, baby boy, come for me. Just like that. Gonna make me come. Gonna make me paint your insides white, gonna make you feel even more hot. Bet you're so raw in there, Sammy. Oh, fuck yeah,” Dean grunted. 

It was when Sam looked at him through his sweaty bangs that he threw his head back and let the tremors of his orgasm overtake him. He felt a shaky, wet-with-come hand splay over his abs that were jumping as he spilled his seed into Sam, forever marking him, ruining him for anyone else.

When the shocks died down to sparks, Dean lifted his lids, breathing heavily. He couldn’t help the lazy smile that was pulling at the corners of his lips 

“Feels so warm,” Sam slurred, swiveling his hips onto Dean’s oversensitive cock, savoring the warmth of come inside him.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, kid,” Dean said, in awe of how Sam was rubbing his own come into his skin. “God, how’d you get to be so filthy?”

“I learn from the best,” Sam teased, voice absolutely wrecked, eyes and cheeks wet. 

He wanted to keep him this fucked-out all the time. 

“C’mere. I’m gonna fall asleep in, like, three seconds,” Sam warned. 

Dean chuckled, leaning down for a kiss from his brother because they just did that now. It felt as familiar to him as breathing. Sam’s smiled into the kiss, letting Dean lick into him, slow and sensual slide of tongues. He pulled back, placing another gentle kiss before leaning back to pull out. 

“No, don’t,” Sam cried, hand gripping his wrist. “Want your come in me as long as I can keep it in there. And I like you being inside me.”

Dean looked at him like he won the lottery. If he wasn’t so tired out, he’d make Sam come again just for that. Instead, he let Sam pull him down, slotting against the his narrow back, not caring that their sweat was going to glue his chest there. It was all the better that it did actually. 

“Ok, but don’t complain when you wake up with me hard inside of you.”

“I’ll complain if I wake up and you  _ aren’t.” _

Dean slapped his ass playfully before pulling him even closer and placing a kiss on the blunt bone sticking out from his neck. 

“By the way, you leave those swampy-ass shoes inside one more time, and I’ll wear a condom next time we fuck.”

Sam never stepped foot into those swamps again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Here's a [fic post](https://andtheywerebandmates.tumblr.com/post/632514082254307328/six-ways-from-sunday-by) ! I'm also on [tumblr!](https://andtheywerebandmates.tumblr.com)


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